Do You Feel Like I Feel? (A Red and Tre WWE 2K20 One-Shot)
by TrueWarrior
Summary: He was in the band and knew next to nothing about wrestling. She was a new student with a temper and a case of OCD when it came to her fascination with wrestling. Fate told they would never meet. Fate, in its crazy way, had other ideas and laughed at both of them.


DO YOU FEEL LIKE I FEEL

Rating: T

Author: TrueWarrior

Summary: He knew nothing about wrestling, not even the terminology. She had a hot temper and a case of OCD when it came to her fascination with wrestling. Fate told they would never meet. Fate, in its own way, had other ideas and laughed at both of them.

Distribution: Ask first

_Do you feel like I feel?  
Or am I all alone?  
Is this all really real, baby I've gotta know.  
When you held me last night,  
Were your words really real?  
Are you just using me?  
Or do you feel like I feel?  
Do you feel like I feel?_

Belinda Carlisle, Do You Feel Like I Feel

_Fulton High School  
Caroga, Fulton County, New York_

The windows along the high school hallway were awash with sunlight as it filtered through the hallway. Banners advertising the Homecoming dance in October splayed on different portions of the wall, and trophies of "Best High School in Fulton County" were on display in the main lobby, encased in glass upon entering the school. Laughter rang out as he and two of his best friends ran toward their lockers. As if they were in a competition, the friends dropped their backpacks and began to open their lockers.

"We've got five minutes, T," a voice said, "You know if we're late for warm-ups, Dierkes'll have our positions changed, and we'll have to audition all over again."

"It ain't no thing! In case you forgot Dev, I'm first chair! Ain't no way Dierkes'll start band without me." Trayvon Staggs declared, even as he continued to circle around his best friends Devon Wilson and Jack Stewart. He was already at his locker, spinning the padlock clockwise and counterclockwise. Devon and Jack were at their respective lockers, mirroring his actions. Oblivious to the ridiculousness of the scene he was causing, different students walked through the hallway, engrossed in their own activity and headed for next class. To his left and his right, he heard as his friends rush to open their locker. Then, he turned back to his own and was already laughing. "TIME!"

Jack groaned, and he lowered his hands in surrender. "Are you kidding me? You beat us again?"

Trayvon shrugged and made to get his trumpet case out of his locker. "I can't help being this good with numbers and speed," he said slyly, and immediately closing it. "That's why I'm section leader."

"Well, section leader, you'd better hurry up and catch up with _us,_ 'cause you just left your music," Devon quipped.

"That's good, Jackie-boy, that's real good. How 'bout a real joke?" Trayvon asked jokingly.

"Oh, we ain't jokin'." Jack adjusted his band folder and headed down the hall. "Don't be late."

Trayvon felt under his arm, hoping against hope that Devon and Jack were just pulling his leg. It wouldn't have been the first time, as the friends had been inseparable since they started attending Fulton High. Sure enough, as he gathered his case, he noticed that his right side seemed lighter than usual. He saw his friends retreating forms round the corner toward the band room and slammed his palm against the front of his locker. "Unbelievable!" he muttered.

A sharp cry brought him out of his thoughts. He peered around his locker and saw three figures following in-step with another. A small, rectangular case was in their hands as well as their textbook. They were unceremoniously dumped on the ground. He immediately recognized the tell-tale signs of Darryl Thompson and Ethan Scott, the captains of the wrestling team. They were on the left and right hand side of Brooklyn Van Braun, the true leader of their squad. But the identity of who they were picking on was an absolute mystery. They seemed small compared to the three.

It was no surprise why the three chose to be a trio and unanimously name each other captain when one was enough. Yet, they were naturally athletic. Obnoxious to a fault, but none the less, athletic. One look at both Darryl and Ethan told that they were both military brats, with their buzzed cuts and set jaws. Even if one wasn't looking, they saw the muscles out of their tight short sleeve shirts. Brooklyn was another matter altogether. Her features were that of an amazon, minus the full body mass.

The little he managed to make out of the cowering figure, he saw that it was a teenage girl his age, with light brownish-red hair and minor freckling on their face. Their emerald green eyes were glossy as she tried vainly to get her tormentors to cease their bullying. What surprised Trayvon the most was the black form fitting t-shirt she wore. It was loose, relaxed and hung around her slender figure. But it was the image and text on the front that gave him pause. It was a picture of a woman athlete, pointing in jubilation at a crowd in what might have been a ring. There was an emboldened phrase on the top and bottom with the woman's picture in the middle

_100 % STRATUSFACTION  
GUARANTEED_

Whoever the woman was, it was clear that this girl was a fan of hers. But the sport they belonged to eluded him.

As for the girl, Trayvon had never seen them before, and it was clear they were doing a number on them, particularly Brooklyn. "Hey man, ease up!" he shouted. "Can't you see she's new here?" He ran the short distance and sharply grabbed at Darryl's shoulder, only for him to quickly tug away from him as if he was nothing.

"You want some too, Staggs?"

"Just leave her alone. Get it through your thick skull, D!"

"Mighty big words, little man. Whatcha gonna do about it?" Ethan threw a fist but Trayvon used his textbook to defend himself. He heard him cry out and retract his hand, waving it in pain. Quicker than a hiccup, Darryl grabbed Trayvon by the cuff of his shirt and pushed him on to the ground. He watched with apparent satisfaction as he went careening into the bottom locker. He tried to rise up, but the sleeve of his shirt was caught on one of the padlocks.

Looking up in dejection, he saw Brooklyn glaring down on him in mock pity. "Looks like he's tied up at the moment," she teased. "He thinks speaking big is gonna frighten us, but it isn't." She looked him over and waved her hand dismissively. "Let's go. These wimps aren't worth our time." And as quickly as they came, they casually walked down the hall to the indoor gymnasium.

When they finally were gone, Trayvon managed to free himself and walked over to the grief-stricken girl. "Y'aight, baby girl?" he asked.

"Why didn't you do anything?" The girl looked up at Trayvon with trepidation. "Talking out your troubles isn't always going to help you."

Trayvon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I did what I did to save face," he snapped uncharacteristically. "You're welcome by the way."

"Welcome?" The girl scoffed and picked up her case. "Is _that_ what you call gratitude? Saving me with your action, or should I say, _inaction_?"

Trayvon scowled at her. "Look, I'm trying to be a model student, a'ight? Picking a fight with the captains of the wrestling team ain't gonna look good for me when I graduate. Plus, it'll get me kicked out of band class, which I'm almost late for, or far worse suspended."

The girl shakily stood up and gathered herself. "You're in the band?" she asked.

"First trumpet for three years," Trayvon said proudly, "I'm also the drum major for the marching band. I don't remember seeing you in class, though."

"That's because I just transferred here, genius," the girl retorted.

At that, Trayvon laughed. "Oh snap, you got jokes," he crowed. "A'ight. I'll give you that one. But someday, I might get back at you."

"If we become friends, you mean," the girl muttered.

"Oh snap, another one. I've gotta catch up." Trayvon laughed again and took the girl's case in his hand. "If we hurry, we can make it before the second bell and I can keep my spot."

"You didn't even look at my schedule," the girl snapped and grabbed the case back. "How do you even know I have band next?"

Trayvon shrugged. "Black padded strap case is the biggest tell," he observed, pointing at her shoulder. "Plus, this is the only way to get to the band room. And judging by the length of your case, I would say you... wait, don't tell me. You play the flute, don't ya?" The girl was taken aback at Trayvon's observation, but knew it was true. In the silence that followed between them, he offered his hand once again. "Now, come on, or we'll both be late." The girl gathered her backpack and ran in step with her savior. "I'm Trayvon, by the way, Trayvon Staggs, but everyone calls me T for short."

The girl smiled and shook it. "Jessica Reddick. A lot of people call me Red. The kids in my old neighborhood gave me another nickname, but I hated it. Suffice to say it had to deal with my temper."

"Reddick, Reddick…" Trayvon glanced at her and laughed to himself. "I can't think of a bad name you'd have." He shrugged and finished helping Jessica gather her bearings. "Let's hope Brooklyn doesn't find out you have one, or she'll tease you about it to no end. Come on. Mr. Dierkes is a stickler for those that arrive tardy for practice. It means an extra half-hour of rehearsals."

Jessica laughed. "He sounds like my kind of band teacher: someone who pulls nothing, even if one of his section leaders are late."

Trayvon grimaced. "So, you're new to Fulton, in the band, and a senior like me. And you're wearing a customized t-shirt of an unknown athlete to me, and I watch a lot of sports."

"She's one of my role models. WWE Women's Champion Trish Stratus."

"WWE?"

"World Wrestling Entertainment. Owned by Vince McMahon."

Trayvon shook his head. "Can't say that I've heard of it," he confessed, "but maybe sometime you could tell me about it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Travyon shrugged nonchalantly. " I'm interested in my friends' interests."

"Suppose I don't want you as my friend?"

Trayvon raised his eyebrow and echoed Jessica's previous retort. "Seriously?"

Jessica laughed again as they continued down the hall. "Well, I guess if we are going to be friends, you need to know I'm very passionate about the WWE. I have a lot of posters ranging from the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Micheals to the Undertaker, to Razor Ramon... Anyway, I've been following it for a long time, even if it is entertainment, and some of the older wrestlers no longer perform."

"That's borderline crazy," Trayvon observed, "Usually people tend to grow out of sporting events if their favorite athletes retire."

The two laughed as they neared the band room. "You know, T, I'll bet that before we graduate we're going to be talking about WWE and one day becoming superstars ourselves," Jessica said in deep contemplation.

"What, are you going to make a list of things to accomplish or something?" Trayvon opened the door for her.

Jessica smiled and entered first. "There's a thought."

Trayvon shook his head and returned Jessica's smile. "Let's get through band first, and then we'll talk."


End file.
